by Chris Walley
“We will try.” Merral added thoughtfully, “I—well, I suppose my own feelings are mixed. I do not mind, or fear, dying, but I do not relish it. And I wish I had not killed.”
“I understand, but we must do what we are called to do. Anyway, let us prepare for an early attack. I think you had best take charge of the weapons. These things seem to be your expertise, not mine.”
“As you wish,” Merral answered as Vero crouched back down over his diary.
Merral went over to their few belongings, put on his jacket, and stuck the two remaining flares in one pocket and the tranquilizer gun with its two cartridges in another. He grasped the knife and clicked the blade in and out, reflecting that this—plus all the rocks he could throw—was all they had. Against adversaries who outmatched them in numbers, technology, and weapons, he knew it wasn’t enough.
As he grappled with the thought, he turned to watch the sunset. There was a narrow gap in the clouds at the bottom, and in it a tiny ruby-colored sliver of the sun shone out. As Merral watched, it slipped down below the horizon and, almost instantly, the shadows about him seemed to thicken.
For a strange moment, an extraordinary desire seemed to seize hold of Merral. It was a desire to lament his lot and his pending death, to grieve for himself and Vero and for the loss his saddened family and Isabella would feel. At the heart of this compelling desire was a dark yearning to give in and to admit that the whole thing was hopeless. As he grappled with the emotion, Merral tried, and failed, to label it, until suddenly the word came to him. Despair, he thought with a sudden recognition. That’s what I am close to. Today I have met four strange things: ape-creatures, cockroach-beasts, terror, and despair. And will death be the fifth stranger I meet?
Then he looked up into the sky and saw that the stars were coming out and that southward the six beacons of the Gate were becoming plain. Heartened, he praised the All Highest; hope returned and the despair fled.
As he turned to go back to Vero, he remembered that the last warrior to set out to fight for the Assembly had been Lucas Ringell in 2110. He had gone to the Centauri Station to take on Jannafy and the rebels, well trained, surrounded by his troops, and armed and suited with the best defensive and offensive equipment the Assembly could devise.
And as Merral remembered that, he was suddenly aware that all he had was two flares in one jacket pocket, a tranquilizer gun in the other, and a knife. Not one of them had even been designed as a weapon.
Suddenly, the irony of the situation struck him and, in spite of all his fears, Merral smiled.
15
As Merral approached him, Vero looked up, his face inscrutable in the gloom. “Nearly there,” he said, his voice an urgent whisper. “It’s at 37.5 degrees Celsius and lots of warnings.” Vivid red letters were scrolling across Vero’s diary screen. “Ten minutes before it is at the right temperature. Perhaps . . .” Merral noted the uncertainty. Then Vero spoke again. “Can you prepare a message for transmission the moment this goes off? Continuously repeating. Every emergency frequency.”
Merral slid the diary off his belt and chose his words. “Diary! Prepare for a transmission on the maximum emergency frequencies and with maximum output and repetition of the following message: ‘Emergency. Under attack from non-Assembly forces. Request immediate pickup from transmission location. Landing zone 100 by 160 meters and flat.’ ”
When, he wondered, was the last time—other than in some play or reenactment of the Rebellion—that anyone had uttered anything like those words under attack from non-Assembly forces?
He paused the diary and looked at Vero. “And how do I warn about the possibility that they will use weapons? My military terminology is minimal.”
“Ah. How about adding, ‘Attackers have beam weapons capable of damage to ships’?”
“Thanks,” replied Merral as he laid the message out and checked it. Then he looked around. Night was falling quickly and it was already too dark to distinguish colors. A strange, unwelcome thought came to him. For the first time in his life, night was no longer a welcome, restful darkness in which the stars and the Gate shone, but a time when things moved, when evil stirred. What did one of the Psalms say? “You will not fear the terror of the night.” With a barely restrained shiver, he realized that he now understood it.
Vero interrupted his reflections. “Up to 38.5 degrees and more warnings.”
“What happens then?” Merral asked as he scanned the gloomy edge of the plateau, his mind already halfway to investing shadows with motion.
“We walk over to the ledge there.” Vero gestured south. “You drop over, get under the ledge, and sit ready to hit the transmit button. I pull out the safety fuse—tricky in the dark—give a final code word, and the thing goes into a chain reaction. I put it down and run and join you. We put our fingers in our ears and close our eyes tight. And pray.”
“How long after the last code before we get the bang?”
“Not long.”
“How long?”
“Er, ten seconds. Perhaps twenty.”
“You’ve forgotten?”
“Yes.”
After a moment, Merral laughed. “Oh the Glory! What a useless pair we are! I’m glad I believe that the Most High graciously governs our affairs. That the fate of the Assembly might hinge on us alone would fill me with extreme terror!”
Vero echoed the laughter. “An amusing thought. I must—” He stiffened. “Wait! I hear something. It’s too soon. We aren’t ready.”
From the western edge of the summit, where the top of the plateau was a black silhouette against the glowing and simmering purple sky, there came a faint scrabbling noise. The thought came to Merral that only brief hours ago he would have interpreted such a sound as that of a fox or badger. Now, and here, it could only be one thing.
On instinct, Merral thrust his diary to Vero. “You send the signal. I may be busy.”
Then, cautiously in the dark, he ran toward the edge. Well to the left of where he had been before, he dropped down onto his knees and slid warily to the edge. He peered over carefully, half expecting to feel the hot and fatal blast of the beam weapon.
The sheer flank of the cliff was now in deep gloom, illuminated only by the waning sunset, and for a moment Merral could see nothing. He was about to run back and get the fieldscope when, with a quiver of alarm, he suddenly saw that, down to his right at the base of the slope, there was movement.
Within moments, he knew that there were at least three ape-creatures moving up the cliff. Their movements were measured and unhurried, and there was a confidence that suggested the darkness did not bother them.
Merral slid back away from the edge and turned toward Vero. “They’re on their way up,” he called. His mouth was now appallingly dry and he was aware of his hands shaking.
“Try to give me another five minutes.”
“I’ll try.”
Merral slid back to the cliff margin, lay down on the rough rock surface, and prayed for help and protection. Within moments there was a further noise from the cliff below.
Suddenly, Merral felt a strange calm descend upon him. He knew what he had to do. Making sure there were some stones within reach, he coolly pulled out one of the flares and, acting from memory, rotated the settings onto short range and long duration. He primed the tranquilizer gun, flicked the safety catch off, and put it down on the ground with a surprisingly steady hand. Then he picked up the flare and waited until the first of the ape-creatures was within a few moments of reaching the top. He aimed and fired, raising a hand immediately to protect his sight.
There was a loud whoosh, and as a dazzling silver light flooded the rock surface, he glimpsed the creature turn toward him, the white teeth of its open mouth gleaming in the brilliant metallic light. As the flare struck the rock above its head, the creature instinctively lifted an arm to protect itself. Then, as the incandescent flame slithered down onto it, it gave a wailing scream and fell backward with arms flailing. It plummeted downward; the
screaming ended with the sound of something smacking in a ghastly, sodden way against rock.
“Forgive me, Lord,” Merral muttered, appalled at both the act and his own coolness.
Down at the base of the cliff, the flickering, sinking flare illuminated two more climbing ape-creatures. In a curiously detached way, Merral seemed to watch himself as he coldly picked up the tranquilizer gun and sighted on the next creature. As its big hands reached for a rock ledge, he pulled the trigger. There was a hiss as the dart fired. Merral ducked his head down low and flicked the last cartridge into the chamber.
He looked up, only to see that his target continuing its upward climb.
I must have missed, he realized dully, and sighted again, anxious to make the most of the fading light of the flare. As he squinted through the eyepiece he saw the thing suddenly twist its body. Then it leaned backward, flung out a desperate arm to steady itself, missed, and toppled down the cliff. This time there was a heavy thud, a slithering sound, and a succession of softer thuds. Simultaneously heartened and sickened, Merral risked a longer glance below. In the ebbing light of the flare, he could make out two other huge forms moving to the base of the cliff below and starting the climb upward.
He was reaching for the rocks, intending to throw them, when he suddenly became aware of a sizzling sound, as if he had his ear next to a frying pan. Immediately to his right the line of the cliff edge began to hiss and glow in an intense cherry red color. Merral jerked himself backward. A whiff of scalding, dusty air enveloped him and he saw that where he had been lying was now a mass of bubbling molten rock. He crawled away from the edge carefully. He had one flare left, and after that, only rocks and the blade. But if he couldn’t get near the edge, even rocks would be little use.
How was Vero doing? Merral looked backward. In the darkness, he could just make him out bending over the diary’s illuminated screen, his face lit by a furious red glow. Hurry up, he mouthed, oh hurry.
Beyond Vero something moved.
His heart thudding, Merral strained his eyes, scanning the starlit blackness of the surface. Along the northern edge of the summit the brilliance of the five bright stars of Reitel’s Crown caught his eye. I imagined it. There could be no threat there: it was too steep.
The stars were blotted out.
“Vero, behind you!” Merral shouted, realizing that, once again, they had underestimated their opponents.
He began to run forward, aware that he had to put himself between Vero and the attackers. Still moving, he reached for the last flare and fired it. As he pressed the button he regretted it; the flare hit the ground and screeched along the rock surface before bursting into a blinding silvery flame. Beyond its blaze, two dark gigantic figures—each like some animated caricature of a man—were fiercely illuminated. Vero turned, realized his peril, and began to run to the south end of the cliff.
As Vero ran past him, Merral dropped to one knee, braced himself, and fired the remaining cartridge in the tranquilizer gun at the front creature. Seeing them for the first time at eye level, he now realized how big the ape-creatures were. It was a good shot and Merral saw it hit home in the chest. But his satisfaction was short-lived as the creature ripped out the cylinder, gave a horrid yell, and threw it away.
Suddenly he was conscious that behind him, Vero was shouting. “Now, Merral! Now!”
Merral began to run unsteadily over the rough surface after him. As he ran, he was aware that the creatures were following him, skirting round the flare. Ahead of him, he saw that Vero, illuminated only by the fading glow of the western sky and the light of the sputtering flare, was now standing at the very end of the cliff. Merral came to a stop next to him, aware of the drop down to the ledge just beyond and sensing more than seeing, far below that, the darkness of the plains and the feeble glint of the Lannar River.
“N–nearly!” Vero gasped. “It’s almost on overload. When I shout, jump. Not too far. Hold them off until then.”
“Okay. Tell me when.”
Marveling again at his steady tone, Merral turned to face his enemies. The two pursuing him had come to a halt next to each other. They stood, just a few meters away, silhouetted against the dying glow of the flare like an enormous matching pair of bizarre statues. To his left the sky bore the last faint purple glow of the sunset. The creatures began slowly edging toward him, their steps almost matching, as if in some crazy dance. Over to the left and behind them, Merral could suddenly make out more movement. At least five of the ape creatures had now made that ascent. A cold dread seemed to grab hold of him.
The left-hand creature facing him made another move. Merral, still waiting for Vero’s word, hurled the empty tranquilizer gun as hard as he could at it. The creature ducked and the gun went over its head and rattled to the ground beyond. Merral pulled out the bush knife, clicked it open, and held it out in front of him. Suddenly, on a wild impulse, he decided he should not fight these beings in silence. Their very monstrosity aroused his wrath and indignation.
“Creatures!” he yelled as loud as he could, his dry voice somehow echoing on the open summit. The shadowy forms seemed to freeze. “This is not your world! It belongs to the Lord Messiah, the Slain Lamb, the One who holds the stars of the Assembly in his right hand! In his Name I defy you! Go, or I will slay you!”
There was a cracked but enthusiastic “Amen!” from behind him. Then, as the words died away in the darkness, the light of the flare sank until it was little more than a glow.
Was there a hesitation among the creatures? Merral wasn’t sure, but they made no move forward. Did the value of such challenges come in improving the morale of the defender or in intimidating that of the attacker? Or was it just something that had to be done? After all, had not David so challenged Goliath? Merral marveled at the irrelevancy of his questions and pushed them away. How do I fight these things? Positively, unlike the cockroach-beasts, they were unarmored. Negatively, their long limbs meant that they could grab his throat while all he could contact would be their hands and arms. And, if he did get close in, he knew he ran the risk of being crushed. My only assets are speed and a sharp blade.
Abruptly, the two creatures ahead separated and began to swing round at Merral from both sides. A simultaneous attack, he thought bleakly. He was aware of an urgent muttering from Vero behind him, as if his words could encourage the diary into self-destruction. The two were now barely an arm’s length away. He could smell them now—an unnatural decaying smell, as if something within them wasn’t working properly.
I must protect Vero. “Vero, stay where you are!” he shouted. “I have to know where you are!”
Merral took two steps to the right, aware that his ankle hurt him, and was gratified to see that the two ape-creatures followed him with a perfect symmetry. Good, they want me. He was relieved that he could treat it like a Team-Ball game. That’s right, don’t think of what is involved.
“Right!” shouted Vero. “Nearly there! Very nearly! Oh, come on!”
The flare was out now and the only light was the dull waning glow from the western skies. Merral stretched out his right hand and swung the blade in as broad an arc as he could. He felt a strange certainty that Vero had failed, but it almost seemed irrelevant. His one task now was to grapple with these things. With a low throbbing grunt, the creature on the left lunged forward.
Merral leapt backward and sideways to the right, sweeping hard with his blade at the same time. As the creature lurched past him, his blade connected with a forelimb, biting deep into soft, sinewy tissue, clinking on—and through—bone and out through flesh. There was a high-pitched scream and something struck the ground at Merral’s feet with a sickening thud. He jerked the blade back, but before he had recovered his balance he saw, outlined against the stars, the second creature charging at him with its arms flailing wide.
Merral threw himself to the left, ducking low as he did, and the outstretched arm swung over him, foul rough fingers glancing over his back. He slashed at the creature, but th
e knife arced only through air and struck nothing. He staggered to his feet, aware of his first attacker writhing amid screams on the ground. The second ape-creature lurched to a halt, wheeled round clumsily, and came back toward him, its head low and its arms wide as if to claw him. Merral dodged again as a long arm swung out widely at him in the blackness. Despite his efforts to dodge it, the flat of the great hand connected with his shoulder. The force of the blow sent him reeling onto the hard, uneven rock.
Before he could regain his footing, he was aware that that creature was standing astride him, its feet almost touching his face, the stink of its fur enveloping him. Amid an awful bellowing, the creature raised a shadowy foot high, and Merral had a sudden terrible remembrance of the crushed remains of Spotback. As the foot hung there above him, Merral unhesitatingly put both hands on the knife handle. With every bit of energy he possessed, he lunged upward with the blade to where the great torso blocked out the stars.
“The Lamb!” he cried, amid a chill anger. The blade plunged deep and the creature’s bellowing flowed into a hideous scream. It toppled over and the momentum tore the blade out of Merral’s hands. As he tried to roll clear, a hot fluid pumped out all over him and a rough, stinking fur thrashed against his face. Everything went black. Then Merral was aware that he was free of the writhing hulk and Vero was tugging at him and yelling to make himself heard over the screaming.
“It’s fused! It’s fused!”
Wiping blood out of his eyes, Merral staggered onto all fours. He was aware of Vero throwing the diary and he saw it spin over his head as a pulsing, angry red block. As he moved toward the edge, Merral glimpsed in the red beating glow other figures now on the plateau. Large and small.
An army.
There was the ledge. He half jumped and half fell down onto it. Vero was pushing him down under the lip and he rolled in. Gasping for breath, aware of blood in his mouth, Merral dully remembered what was supposed to happen and turned facedown against the rough rock. Then he closed his eyes and put his fingers in his wet ears. This was the end.
